"You can have the fucking cookies."

It was one of those Fridays where everything was all off-kilter.  CoLaw was having a party for a friend I didn't know, but most of the Ivy League Crew was going.  About 70 blocks downtown, TTT had suggested we see Thank You for Being a Friend, a show based on the characters of The Golden Girls, so I dropped in on that first.

Of course, they had to avoid copyright issues, so they changed the names: Dorothea, Ross, and Blanchette.  And who could forget Sophie (the only cast member who was not a man).  There were a number of rewritten showtunes (“All That Jizz”), references to gender reassignment procedures (guess who was the subject of that), and two six-foot sequined penises.

Though the set up was pretty low-budget (what do you expect for $20 tix) with a number of tech errors, the cast played it brilliantly, evoking all the mannerisms of the key characters.  I was upset with myself that it took me half way through the show to get the irony of Lance Bass moving to a retirement community. 

Embarrasing moment: Ms. W had brought a date.  Here’s how our introduction went.

Me: “Hi.”

Him: “Good to see you."  He saw that I didn't recognize him.  "We go to the same gym.”

Me: “Oh, really?”  *awkward laughter*

And my gym really isn’t that big. 

I bade the boys fairwell after the show and headed up to CoLaw’s party, which was in full swing when I arrived.  Of course, TTT and the others would probably joined me if it weren't for what happened the last time they crashed one of CoLaw's parties (scandal!).  I arrived to the usual scene of over-educated gays and straights mingling and yelling.  There was a half-empty 1.75 L bottle of Jose when I arrived, and shots were still being poured. 

“Here you go,” a real girl said, tucking her hand into the collar of my tight shirt.

“Oh, thanks.  Hi, I’m D. Kareem.”

“Oh, yeah.  We’ve met before!” 

I’m really bad at this tonight.  “Oh, cool cool.”  I quickly changed the subject to my delight at finding that she had tucked a dollar into my shirt collar.  “Oh wow!  Well, thanks!”

“Yeah, someone passed it to me, so now I’m passing it to you!”

“Oh.”  Here I was thinking my cute outfit is finally paying off (literally), and it turns out to be a pass-the-buck situation.  Thanks, chick.  Thanks. 

At one point, someone passed the buck to Bottomless Pitt.  Game over.

Remember how Urban Sprawl isn’t so good with electronics?  

Well, she went ghetto fabulous and got a Sidekick!  QWERTY keyboard and everything!  Just don’t ask her to Google anything because you know she wouldn't shell out the money for a data plan!

More shots?  

No thanks.  You guys go ahead.

Oo, girl.  Did you really just take a shot out of this glass. 

Nice.

And in case there was any confusion,

this is the international sign for Diva.

Well, CoLaw had a boy situation who was present, and after I had been there about a half hour, she disappeared to her room, occasionally ducking to the bathroom in her robe.  Somehow, she had procured a box of Samoa girl scout cookies.  WTF?  I haven’t had a girl scout cookie since high school!  Where the hell do you find girl scouts in NYC?  I heard whispers of her having them smuggled from Montclair (that's in New Jersey).

Like the juvenile that I am, I was trying to control my giggling as I went up to CoLaw's door (box-in-hand) to knock and ask if I could have a cookie or two.  As I was trying to gain my composure (I could barely stand up, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation), she comes up from behind me, saying, "You can have the fucking cookies."  She must have been coming from the bathroom.  We died.

About an hour after our hostess retired, we moseyed (noisily, rolling about 10 deep) down the street to Suite.  And by that, I mean that people couldn’t mobilize in a timely manner, so Bottomless Pitt and I ditched, the others following soon thereafter. 

Friday is Britney Houston’s night at Suite, and she served the kids well!  I had the camera out for a knockout performance, and she played most of it right to me.  Then I realized I wasn’t recording. 

The highlight of the night (for me anyway):

Britney: “Okay, I’m gonna do a run.  Whoever can guess this old-school song off this run in the intro gets a free drink.”

Me to Urban Sprawl: “Heeeeell yeah!  This drink is as good as mine.”

 

This is one of those situations where the drag queen is black, from the South, and my age(ish… I met her as a boy my first week in NYC back in ’05), so for once I was in a situation where everyone else was culturally disadvantaged.

When Britney did the run (it was maybe 2 seconds long), I recognized Whitney’s song immediately, but my hand shot up before my brain got the title.  It was like slow motion.  I saw her look at me as I mentally scrolled through the rest of the intro.  She pointed and walked off the stage as I mouthed the words to the first verse at light speed.  Shit, Whiney doesn't say the title til the end of the chorus!

“Yes, and what song is this?”

“Uhhhh, Whiney Houston… all I've got in this world, but he's "ALL THE MAN I NEED"!”

“Get this homo a drink!  That is cor-rect!” 

And it's a good thing I won that drink because I had quite a bit to deal with among the Ivy League Crew et. al.

Urban Sprawl spent the rest of the night talking to a boy that lived around the corner (hey, Queens is a long way at 3am!).

Donkey Hóte (another graduate of a different non-Ivy-League school, thank god) spent the rest of the night trying to convince us she wasn’t drunk.

She wasn’t very successful.

Have you ever heard of how gay friends have to "save" their girlfriends from sleazy guys in straight clubs?  That's sort of the reverse of what happened right after this picture, the gay in the background swooping in to "save" his girlfriend.

At the end of the night, Urban Sprawl got caught with the flask (considering she were standing at the bar taking swigs of it at 3am when the crowd had thinned out… and this bitch has a masters) and was kicked out asked to leave.  For some reason, she came and started talking to me.

“Bitch, they’re throwing you out!  Don’t come and associate yourself with me!  Especially when your dick in a box is waiting for you by the door.  GO!”

After everyone else left I started talking to the somewhat sleazy-looking 6’6” eastern European guy.  I’m kinda into the sleazy look sometimes.  The attention was nice, but I wasn’t going to go there.  Especially since my family gathering that was supposed to happen in Harlem got moved to my grandmother’s in Bumfuck Egypt!  Did I mention I hate Saturdays?  Yeah.

Remember when we went to 6 Flags?  Click here to read about it.


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